Chapter 12
He hated this guy. Had always hated this guy. Didn’t dislike him any less for the wedding ring glinting on the third finger of his left hand.
Jude supposed he could rationalise this reaction on the basis that Matt Hughes had met him before, but hadn’t found him interesting or important enough to remember.
In fairness, however, they’d crossed paths on a boozy night at least seven years ago – and the fact that Matt loomed large in Jude’s mind while the reverse remained stubbornly untrue said more about Jude’s historic jealousy than his superior powers of memory.
What irked him right now was the easy, open dynamic Matt had with Hannah; the flippant way he was placing his palm a short distance from her spine as she ascended a flight of steep, centuries-old stairs in her thick-soled DM sandals.
It was an act Jude would have agonised over as her friend, in case he accidentally touched her in a way she didn’t want; a liberty he’d never allow himself now they were .
. . whatever they were. Less than friends, but more than strangers, he supposed.
People who’d seen each other naked in every sense imaginable, but had tacitly agreed never to speak of it.
It was odd – borderline intolerable, actually – that he knew what she looked like first thing in the morning, soft-eyed and sleep-mussed, but now felt he lacked the rights even to ask how her week had been.
He reminded himself that they’d agreed to civil relations for the sake of their brothers’ wedding, no more and no less.
Hannah was under immense pressure to organise this event – far more than she’d admit to Joe and Ed, Jude suspected.
The last thing she needed was him pushing his luck, angling for more friendliness than she felt comfortable with.
Inside the manor, Matt led them through a magnificent hallway, then around a corner into a cosy space with a bar.
The wedding party was invited to sit around a low coffee table on a selection of antique, leather-upholstered seats as tea and coffee orders were taken.
Jude found himself next to Hannah, his semi-bare leg pressed against her denim-clad one on the tiny sofa he’d settled in.
Matt was on her other side, and Ed and Joe occupied the armchairs opposite.
They made small talk about Joe and Ed’s ideas and inspirations until a tray of barista-grade drinks and fresh biscuits appeared, after which Matt offered a deftly delivered sales pitch.
This included a history of the estate, which Jude found fascinating in spite of himself.
It was difficult not to be transfixed by the story of a building that had been standing, in one form or another, for more than five hundred years, was the birthplace of two British prime ministers and had been requisitioned as a military hospital during World War Two.
He suspected that, if the wedding did take place here, his mother would have a hard time refusing to attend – which she’d thus far claimed was her intention, despite the questions this would raise in what she called ‘Derbyshire society’.
As Jude had predicted, Lillian’s response to the news of her eldest son’s engagement had not been positive.
In truth, her stance could best be described as scathing and resentful – though the extent of her bitterness had shocked him.
After four years of experiencing her iciness from the other side of the world, face-to-face exposure was bracing.
It was like diving into a cold swimming pool after hours in humid sunshine; the contrast made the chilling effect of the water that much more shocking.
When Lillian had informed Jude she didn’t approve of his sticking around for the wedding, or acting as Joe’s best man, he’d told her – with a sick, heavy feeling in his stomach – that he was going to do it anyway. Afterwards, she hadn’t spoken a word to him for four days.
Jude’s refusal to countenance backing down had clearly come as a surprise to his mother.
When she finally realised there was no question he’d hold to his decision, she’d rowed back on leaving rooms he walked into and stopped staring at him in wounded silence when he asked if she’d like a cup of tea.
The thaw between them was incomplete, though, and Jude felt strangely as if the incident had tilted his world on its axis; reordered something inside him that he’d thought he understood.
Her willingness to drive a wedge between him and his brother – to hurt Joe through him – had been absolute and unapologetic.
Although she hadn’t succeeded, he couldn’t find it in himself to fully forgive her for trying.
For his part, Joe seemed entirely unbothered that she’d reacted to his wedding plans so poorly.
On the evening of their brief spat on the topic, he’d merely said: ‘This is only what I expected from you, Mum. But let the record show I kept you abreast of events and saved you a seat. You won’t be able to claim later that I cut you out.
’ He seemed more concerned about Jude’s continuing presence in the old family home than his own dysfunctional relationship with Lillian.
He’d asked several times if Jude wouldn’t prefer to move into the spare room in Manchester, but for some reason, despite everything, Jude couldn’t bring himself to say yes.
He retained a sense of responsibility for his mum that he couldn’t shake, and which Joe described as ‘entirely misplaced’.
‘So that’s how things work here, in a nutshell,’ Matt said as Jude tuned back into his spiel. ‘Several highly picturesque locations are on offer for the various stages of the day, and we can host up to one hundred and sixty guests as an absolute maximum.’
‘We’re already up to one hundred and forty-six,’ Hannah said, directing this information at Joe. ‘That includes the space reserved for your mum.’
‘Understood,’ Joe answered. ‘And catering is additional?’
‘It is,’ Matt confirmed. ‘The in-house team that runs the restaurant and tearoom can provide whatever service you’d like, or you can outsource it. Use of the kitchen facilities and cleaning are included in your package, but no food, drinks or menu design.’
Hannah nodded. ‘I suggest we discuss that separately. I have a preferred caterer, and I know she’d love the job.’
‘That would be fine, of course,’ Matt said. ‘I’m sure anyone you’re willing to partner with is exceptional.’
Hannah turned to smile at him, and Jude bit back an irritated groan. Did the man have to be such a shameless suck-up?
‘Are we ready for a stroll?’ Matt asked.
‘Definitely,’ Ed said, resembling nothing so strongly as a Labrador puppy desperately in need of a walk. ‘Let’s go.’
Matt was a master of his craft, Jude could give him that.
He led Ed and Joe to the various parts of the mansion they’d have access to, should they book it – but he didn’t overexplain or answer questions they hadn’t asked.
Instead, he allowed the spectacular painted hall to speak for itself, and was smart enough to let them glimpse the courtyard while today’s wedding guests were still milling around in it, nibbling classy-looking canapés and quaffing champagne.
He, Hannah and Jude hung back, allowing the grooms to digest and discuss all that they were seeing.
As they made their way to the carriage house – the space dedicated for formal, sit-down wedding feasts at Renfrew – Hannah said: ‘I can’t believe anyone would let this place go.
It’s too beautiful.’ She turned to Matt and asked quietly, ‘Was the original wedding cancelled? I hope nothing awful happened.’
‘It’s a mad story, actually,’ Matt said, slightly under his breath. He was using a conspiratorial tone that Jude found he didn’t enjoy.
‘Mad how?’ Hannah said.
‘I wouldn’t normally divulge this, but since it’s you . . .’ Matt said. ‘The bride got word from a friend that her groom wasn’t behaving as a soon-to-be-married man should.’
‘He was cheating in the run-up to his wedding?’ Hannah’s disgust was evident, as was Matt’s delight in telling this story to a rapt listener.
‘Not quite . . .’ he said. The dramatic pause that followed was long enough for Jude to roll his eyes and puff out an exasperated breath, but neither Matt nor Hannah noticed.
They were inside the reception space, now.
Ed and Joe had made their way to the far end of the large room that had been set up with beautifully laid tables, all topped with crisp white linens, gleaming silverware and arrangements of bright pink peonies.
‘He was on OnlyFans,’ Matt whispered, and Hannah gasped.
‘What?’
‘Sharing photos of body parts that his fiancée felt she had, er, exclusive rights to see,’ Matt went on. ‘He was coining it in, apparently – but as his ex-fiancée told him, you can’t put a price on honesty.’
‘God,’ Hannah murmured, ‘what a story. And they must have lost thousands, cancelling everything only two months out from the day. I can understand it, though – when someone breaks your trust badly enough, they break everything.’
Jude felt a sudden pang of shame when she said this.
The sensation hit him unexpectedly, and hard – like someone had just chucked a basketball at his chest with no warning.
She hadn’t been talking about them. Hadn’t meant it as a dig .
. . and it wasn’t like he’d ever lied to her about anything as significant as a secret sideline in nude photos.
Regardless, the sad wistfulness in her voice made him want to crawl out of his skin.
‘In any case,’ Matt said, ‘it might work out to your brother’s advantage. And that man’s loss will be another’s gain, in the end – though reports are that, for now, he’s quite happy with the Porsche his penis pics have bought him.’